


i'm your masochist, make me bleed

by nicotinedaydream



Category: Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Dubious Consent, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2019-10-31 11:22:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17848505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicotinedaydream/pseuds/nicotinedaydream
Summary: 5 times David has his way with Michael, and the one time the tables are turned.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something in the Lost Boys universe that was less plot driven and more plain smut. Oops. Also, fun fact: The song Animal by the band Badflower reeks of these two boys. Been listening to that song nonstop envisioning David and Michael, which hence inspired the title.

It all begins with a harmless sip from what might be a bottle of wine.

"Welcome to the club, Michael," he hisses, brushing up against the boy who startles and flinches. For a second, Michael looks confused, a little bit guarded, but when David puts an arm around his shoulder his troubled expression seems to falter as he takes another sip.

"Yeah, Mikey! Now you're one of us!" Paul shouts, grinning as he dances around the fountain, his hair a wild mess, eyes sparkling in glee.

Marko and Dwayne share a secret smirk as they watch Paul's animated display… before Michael takes a long, extended drink; then they grin, too, all teeth and fierce joy. David lets out a huff of laughter when the boy groans and stumbles into him, a glazed look in his eyes.

Star has already retreated to her cosy safe space, Laddie clutched to her side. David knows she is upset, but he can't exactly blame her this time. Michael was meant to be hers. Now he is David's. She would be sore about it for a few days, maybe weeks, but she'd eventually get over it. She'll have to, because he's not letting her have Michael. He's not letting the kid go, oh no, not without a damn good fight. 

Paul manages to coax Michael into smoking four joints by the time the blood in the bottle is empty—and by the time feeding Michael a lungful of bud becomes a bore and he finds his interest in something else, throwing a rock at a flock of pigeons while Marko sits on the edge of the fountain, an annoyed scowl on his face, one of the fleeing pigeons perched on his arm.

Michael is sprawled between his legs, back to David's chest; his limbs are loose and he looks barely lucid, red smearing his chin and bottom lip. David can feel the boy's warmth, hear his jagged breaths, smell the arousal on his skin. Vampire blood's one of the most potent aphrodisiacs a human could ever experience in their lifetime, and Michael's body is slowly coming to terms with that fun little fact.

Michael doesn't fight, nor does he struggle or protest when David pushes a hand under the layer of his shirt, merely arches into the touch as an incoherent murmur slips through his lips. The boy's heart had been calm, steady, but now it has sped up, the beat of it stuttering to each stroke of David's fingers over his abdomen. He chuckles, fingers mapping out the ridges of Michael's hips and following a trail of hair further down, lower. Michael arches into the touch again, almost like a cat, head rolling back onto David's shoulder as his breaths become heavier.

Paul and Marko are bickering, so Dwayne is the only one who notices what he's doing. David raises an eyebrow with an insolent shrug.

_'What. He's fair game.'_

Dwayne shakes his head, rolling his eyes.

_'You're a bastard.'_

_'Michael doesn't seem to think so.'_ He smirks, sliding his hand below the waistband of Michael's jeans, stopping when he feels his fingers brush against the boy's cock. He's not fully hard, not yet, but David has ways to deal with that. "Do you, Michael?"

Dwayne rolls his eyes again when Michael blinks dazedly and doesn't respond other than weakly lifting his lower body up to meet David's hand.

"You gonna do that _here_ ," he says gruffly, incredulous. David turns to see if Paul and Marko have noticed yet, but both of them are still pushing each other around and flinging insults back and forth. Dwayne follows his eyes and sighs. "David."

"Shut up, Dwayne," he snaps, tired of his brother's morality complex. Dwayne, for his credit, does go quiet, but David feels his eyes lingering.

It doesn't take long to finish him off. David's blood in the boy's veins, every slick movement of his hand, and, well, Michael's needy cock is a hair-trigger just waiting to explode. A few seconds later, that's exactly what happens. Michael's back bows, face screwed up in forced pleasure, letting out a string of pained hiccupping noises as his hips jerk forward.

Dwayne continues to stare, eyes narrowed, as he removes his hand and wipes some of the mess on Michael's stomach. He licks the rest of the boy's come from his fingers, and his brother's eyes narrow further.

_"Holy shit!"_

David dismisses Dwayne to turn and glare at Paul; the blond's wide eyes and ridiculous, open-mouthed expression. Marko is looking too, biting on the thumb of his glove, like he normally does when he's distracted by something.

"Nothing to see here, boys," he says. He pets a hand through Michael's curls and traces his nails along the smooth skin of his bare throat, applying enough pressure for the kid's breath to wheeze.

"Whatever you say, boss," Marko snickers, but he diverts his attention to the pigeon on his arm all the same.

"No fair, man. How come you get to have him?" Paul whines, crossing his arms, ever the petulant child, and David growls. Thankfully, it gets Paul to quit complaining and wander off to sulk someplace else.

Dwayne is still watching him, but David ignores him in favour of scooping Michael up in his arms. Michael's easy to carry, his body limp, boneless, no weight at all, and he lays him on Star's bed. She immediately rushes over, doe eyes burning in anger, a confused Laddie hiding behind her.

"What did you do to him, David?" she accuses venomously, and he smirks.

_'Wouldn't you like to know.'_

"I don't under—" Star's mouth parts in shock as she notices Michael's shirt has ridden up slightly, the drops of come glistening on his skin. " _D-David_ …" she starts, her voice trembling, but he walks away.

Too bad he's already heard that dramatised speech before.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a prompt from the lovely and talented Ranranbolly, who requested Michael having a sexy dream that leaves him confused and embarrassed. I played around with the train scene, and, well, I'm not exactly disappointed with how it came out.

"Oh, dear, is Michael still not up yet?"

Sam rolls his eyes behind the comic he's reading, flipping the page and hissing under his breath as the bloodsucker is turned into a soupy mess. _Nice_. "I dunno, ma."

Lucy Emerson sighs. Only their first week in Santa Carla, and her sons were already acting out. She does her best to settle the overwhelming feeling of losing control, breathing in slowly.

"Sam!" she snaps, raising her voice, not wanting to but knowing she has to. This was a new start for her family, and no matter what, she was going to make it work. "Can you go upstairs and check on your brother, please? _Now_?"

Sam groans loudly, about to roll his eyes for a second time, but at his mother's displeased frown he drops the comic onto the couch and raises his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, I'm going, jeez," he huffs under his breath, hurrying up the stairs with Nanook almost a shadow behind him. He stops at Michael's room and knocks on the door. "Uh, Mike? You awake in there? Mum's gettin' real mad, so you better get up if you know what's good for ya."

"Sam!" his mother shouts impatiently from the bottom of the stairs.

Sam knocks on the door again. " _See_? C'mon, Mike, don't make me open this door… you know I will," he says, tapping his foot and waiting for a reply. Nothing. "Okay, buddy, you asked for it," he mutters, pushing the door open and peeking his head inside. He immediately gags. "Oh, ewwww, _gross_."

"Well?" his mother shouts, this time her voice sounding one hundred levels of done.

"Sure, he's _up_ all right. C'mon, Nook, let's get outta here," he grumbles, nose scrunched in distaste as he walks away. He's completely unaware of Nanook whining softly at the bed, at the person lying on it, asleep and in the deep throes of a… very pleasant dream.

***

_Michael stands on the tracks, staring down at the dense fog below. They're high up, impossibly high, and he shivers in the heavy cold wind. He's never really been the biggest fan of heights, but tonight, he doesn't feel scared. Not at all. He feels…_

_"Me and the boys come up here when we need a breather."_

_Michael glances up to find David a little way off from the edge, looking out through the darkness, lit cigarette between his lips casting the light of a flickering flame across his face. Paul, Marko and Dwayne aren’t too far behind. Dwayne seems bored, or just so content it appears that way, but Marko and Paul's eyes dance in amusement._

_"We just don't breathe," Marko chuckles, winking. Paul starts laughing like a hyena beside him, while Dwayne rolls his eyes. Michael feels like he's missing something here._

_"Yeah, right, sure," he agrees in a slow, wry murmur as he shakes his head with a snort. David smirks at him._

_"I think you'll like it up here, Michael."_

_Michael suddenly feels the tracks rumble under his feet, hears the sound of a train whistle, a bright beacon of white materialising from the fog. His eyes widen when David's smirk changes into a massive grin._

_"Y-You think?!" he panics._

_Shit, how is he meant to get off the tracks before this train comes? There's not enough time._

_"Don't worry about it," Dwayne says, patting a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder._

_"Don't worry?!" Michael shouts, more afraid than anything else. He looks between Paul and Marko, both of the boys wearing similar broad grins to David's. "This is crazy! What the hell are you doing, huh?!"_

_"Easy, Michael. Dwayne's right. Nothing to worry about. Boys?"_

_"I dunno, boss. Hey, what's Michael wanna know again, Pauley?" Marko teases, eyes sparking in glee. Michael wants to punch him, the outrageous dick._

_"Michael wants to know somethin'? Ha! No clue. Dwayne, whaddya think, man?"_

_Dwayne doesn't respond with as much gusto, unlike the others, but he does let slip a small smile. "Beats me. David?"_

_David seems pleased with how the question's come back around to him, as if the last few seconds have been some kind of creepy circle jerk, but does not answer it. Michael shivers, fully aware that the cold wind is not the cause this time._

_"All right, time to go, boys!" David yells, throwing his cigarette over the edge of the tracks. Paul and Marko cackle, high-fiving, while Dwayne sighs with a visible rise and fall of his chest, almost like he's used to the theatrics._

_"What?!" Michael blurts out, gaze darting between the three boys about to follow David's senseless logic, and the oncoming train barrelling along the tracks. "You're all insane!"_

_Marko is first, giving him a little wave as he drops like a stone._

_Paul tumbles after him, howling into the night._

_Dwayne silently watches him, gauging his reaction, before stepping off the edge and disappearing from sight._

_David turns to him, a hideous grin on his lips, his eyes liquid fire…_

_…and simply falls backward._

_Michael's frozen in shock, unable to comprehend what he's just witnessed._

_David's eyes had been… They had all just…_

_But reality hits him as the train sounds closer, wheels grinding, whistle shrill and piercing, the body of the train a faint shimmer in the distance._

_"David!" he screams into the fog, cursing the bastard, all four of them, absolutely petrified. He takes a step forward, sneakers hovering above the bottomless pit of obscurity beneath his feet._

_One more step… forward, backward, right, left, or none at all… and he'll be dead._

_The train isn't stopping._

_He closes his eyes, his decision made, and steps forward._

_Michael waits for the impact, for the ground to swallow him whole, but it never does. He can feel the air rushing past, so hard and fast it feels like his clothes are being stripped from his body, an icy chill seeping into his pores. Then, the air feels_ alive _, almost like hands, rough, impatient; touching, caressing, stroking over his lips, his throat, his nipples, his thighs, and… and…_

'Let go, Michael…'

 _…and when the impact does_ come _, it hurts, it hurts so fucking good._

***

Michael gasps awake, hand clutched to his chest, grasping at the collar of his shirt as he sits up, breathing heavily. His underwear is tacky, uncomfortable, and the spreading wet spot causes a blush to heat his cheeks. _W-What the hell…?_ he thinks, bleary-eyed and squinting, the sun's glare cutting through the blinds.

_"Sam, I want you to go up there and wake your brother this instant!"_

_"But, Mum—!"_

_"And do not argue with me, young man!"_

Michael groans and leans back onto the bed, lying down as he grabs his sunglasses and slides them up his nose; the blink of clarity to his eyesight is immediate, his irises no longer stinging, tinted dimness an odd relief. He closes his eyes, tired, too tired to realise that he still feels like he is missing something. Something important…

Downstairs, unbeknownst to both Sam and Lucy, Nanook growls at the staircase.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got way out of hand and I'm not even sorry about it. Congratulations to me for writing my first ever sorta gangbang.

That night, Michael meets the boys on the boardwalk. He hadn't planned to, definitely not since that eerie dream this morning, but his body seems to have a mind of its own, pulling him in their direction. Sam, who is an indignant yell behind him, is as good as dead to his brotherly sensibilities.

Marko smirks, and his face lights up when he sees Michael walking toward them, fingers curling in a wave. Paul notices Michael, too, and shoves at Dwayne's shoulder, trying to get his attention. Dwayne assesses him, his eyes proving difficult to read. Michael swallows, timorous as his legs continue to lead him the last few steps, until he's standing in front of David.

David turns to Michael, the glance vague and noncommittal, but his lips twitch in a magnanimous smile. "Ah, Michael. I thought I'd find you here tonight." It's said casually, somewhat blithe, yet the snickered laughter shared between Paul and Marko leads him to believe there is some kind of hidden meaning.

Michael doesn't say anything in return, not sure how to respond. He still isn't even aware of _why_ he is here in the first place. Hadn't he been sent to the boardwalk to keep Sam company while he browsed through comics in that tiny, cramped joint run by those two army brat weirdos?

"Couldn't stay away from us could ya, Mikey?" Paul crows, grinning. Marko's smirk grows at Paul's words. Michael starts to feel slightly uncomfortable surrounded by the ill tension.

"You okay?" Dwayne asks him, sudden, his voice bordering on a tone that could only be concern. Michael is staggered, pretty much speechless, to say the least.

"Uh… uh, yeah. I'm fine," he says, looking at Dwayne, who is staring at him, something dark and leaden in his expression, and then David. David looks bored, almost, if not for the small amused dip to his mouth.

"We were just about to head back. Wanna join us, Michael?"

Michael should say no, he _should_ , because Sam's an idiot who will get himself killed if he leaves him wandering the boardwalk on his own, and Michael is a dumbass who will get himself killed when his mother finds out he abandoned Sam and went off to party with a biker gang.

Michael should say no, but he doesn't.

 ***

Michael does not need to keep up with the boys on the ride back to Hudson's bluff this time. David proposes that Michael should leave his bike and sit behind him instead, and even though he wants to refuse, the thought of riding bitch causing an execrable anxiety to take root in his stomach, Michael ends up doing it anyway, much to the entertainment of the others.

None of them take it easy tonight, racing each other along the dunes of sand. Michael clings onto David tight, ignores the deriding chuckle under the rumble of the engine, and closes his eyes as the wind whips his hair and Paul and Marko's howls of delight ring in his ears. When they arrive, David skids to a halt and kills the motor. Michael nearly face-plants into David's back from the slam of brakes, frowning in annoyance as he steadies himself.

"Jesus, man, watch it!" he hisses, jumping down from behind David and dusting a cloud of sand off his jeans.

"Not _too_ delicate, are we?" David says, and it takes Michael only a full second and a half to realise David is mocking him. He rises to it like a challenge, like _bait_ , which is really not a good idea, but apparently there's been a restless, igneous energy simmering underneath the surface ever since David had patted the space behind him on his motorcycle and gave Michael a twisted, knowing smile.

He kicks David's bike, hard enough to hear a rattle; internal, no doubt.

"Shit, dude!" Paul yells, traces of hysteria and bewilderment in his voice. Marko almost looks fed by the drama, his gloved hand covering his mouth, while Dwayne's expression is unreadable.

Michael turns to see David glaring at him, his eyes ice-cold steel.

"Wrong move, Michael," he growls, and the next sight Michael sees is empty and black.

***

Michael opens his eyes, grunting in pain. _Fuck_ , it feels like he's been hit by a ton of bricks. He tries to sit up, see where he is apart from lying on a bed, but there's an invisible weight that prevents him from moving. He panics, attempting to throw his body forward, however he finds he is yet again confined to his current lying position.

David must have done something to him. That's gotta be it.

_"You sure about that?"_

Michael's head jerks toward the voice, eyes both widening and narrowing when he sees David leaning against the wall across from him. He's not smirking at Michael this time, or smiling that secret smile, like he knows something Michael doesn't; his mouth is a firm, paper-thin line.

"What the fuck did you do to me?" he snaps, trying and failing to move his arms and legs. From what he can see, he's not tied up, so what the fuck is happening? David doesn't answer, just stands there and continues to stare at him. Michael feels a minute hesitation at the emotionless mask. "D-David," he stammers. "What are you—"

Paul walks in and joins them before he can finish his sentence, lips pulled back to reveal fangs, his eyes like bright molten pits of lava. Michael loses the fight in him quickly, unable to do anything but release a quiet, dumb gasp.

"Initiation's over, Michael." David's frown evens out into a sneer as he says it. Paul's fangs glisten as he grins, his lucent eyes sparkling in glee.

"W-W-Wha—What? Davi—" Michael stumbles on his words, confused and frankly terrified of the… _christ_ , of the creature in front of him wearing Paul's face.

David merely lets his face shift, and his own fangs and glowing eyes gleam at Michael as he leaves on a low, deep murmur.

"You boys have fun."

"Oh, we will!" Paul cackles, enthusiastic, while he leers at Michael.

Michael tries to escape as Paul straddles him, the boy's bony hips digging into his ribs, but he finds it is useless. Paul must know that, too, because he huffs a laugh and wriggles on top of him, the heavy force of the movement causing Michael to hiss sharply.

"Hey there, Mikey," Paul coos, running a scarily long nail down the side of his face, and it scratches his cheek, blood prickling, a wet itch.

"Stop," Michael says, his voice soft and afraid, disturbed by the wild and burning fire in Paul's eyes as he licks the blood from his skin. Paul doesn't stop, moaning as he bathes the wound in spit, like he's getting off on drinking Michael's blood.

"V-V-Vampire," he chokes, high and quavering, when the truth of the situation dawns on him.

Paul's tongue pauses, those unnatural eyes lifting to meet his own, and Michael thinks that this is it, this is where he dies. But Paul simply winks. Fucking _winks_.

"Relax, dude," he mumbles, rubbing a hand across Michael's chest as he continues to lick his cheek; it's gentle, if a vampire could even be called gentle, like Paul is trying to soothe him. What in the actual fuck.

Michael squirms, knowing he's unable to get away, but not wanting to give in to… to… to whatever _this_ is.

"Still not relaxed, huh?" Paul sounds sympathetic, not realising his own strength. Paul's body may be all lean and wiry muscle, but he's _solid_. Every time he pushes himself down onto Michael, his chest hurts under the weight, his eyes soon watering.

"How the _fuck_ am I meant to be relaxed with you looking like _that_?" he manages to croak, the urge to knock the vampire off of him surging through his veins, though he can't do a damn thing about it. Paul laughs, the noise vibrating between the fixed press of their bodies, and without Michael's command, humiliatingly, his cock twitches.

"Really? Cos you're _feelin'_ it to me, bud," Paul chuckles, a light and teasing rasp. Michael's breath hitches on a groan as a fang grazes the shallow cut and slices it open.

"M'not… not _'f-feeling'_ it," he pants, honestly creeped out by his body's reaction. This shouldn't be happening. To hell with that crazy dream from this morning, and to hell with this freaky monster shit. He likes girls.

He likes _Star_.

"Star don't suck dick good as I do," Paul brags (shit, shit, _shit_ , was he reading Michael's mind?) and to somehow prove his point he latches his lips over the cut, sucking obscenely. _God_. Michael's lungs release an unexpected gush of breath, which slips and turns into a whimper after Paul starts to grind his hips, the hard poke of his dick rubbing against Michael's own.

_No, no, no… I don't like boys… or vampires… I like… I like…_

Michael's thoughts dissolve, limbs stiffening, when Paul moves down his body. He's giggling like a fucking school girl as he pops the buttons of Michael's jeans and tears open the zipper, before removing both his jeans and boxers with a speed Michael can't even begin to comprehend.

"Paul, wai—" Michael bites his lip hard enough that he tastes blood, and nearly launches himself upward in shock if not for whatever's holding him in place, when Paul licks the head of his cock. " _S-S-Shit._ "

Paul's eyes look up at him as he does it again and they're blue now, so goddamn blue. Michael doesn't realise what he's thinking, until his brain's supplying him with a super unhelpful quip of _but_ _not as blue as David's._

"Got the hots for David, eh Mikey?" Paul's voice floats up toward him, light and mocking. Michael tries to shake his head, spit out an aggressive _fuck no_ , but Paul's lips are wrapping around him and sending his body into aching bliss before he can even form the words.

Michael closes his eyes with a mumbled whine. Paul's movements are sloppy, but the inside of his mouth is silk warmth. Paul is obviously enjoying it, too. Michael has never been on the receiving end of a blow job this fucking enthusiastic, like Paul's waited for forever to get Michael's dick in his mouth. He's loud, which is not a surprise, since Michael's already noticed his usual lack of ability to shut the fuck up, but the hums and moans Paul makes are so different to the girls he's been with; long, throaty, pure fucking _sin_.

It's mortifying how quick it takes for Paul to get him so close to the edge, what with his hips straining on the bed, unable to move them or thrust up into Paul's mouth. He's gasping, chest heaving, desperate for _something_ , for something he's not even sure of, but when Paul pulls off to flash him a wide and dirty grin before sinking down again, until Michael's cock hits the back of his throat, and gags like he's hungry for Michael to choke him with come… that's it.

Michael gives a hoarse, breathless shout as he feels the tremor of orgasm run through him, the sound of Paul's noisy and audible slurping as he swallows just adding to the toe-curling sensation. By the time Paul's finished, his body is wracked in shivers.

Paul rises, blue eyes twinkling, no fangs in sight, a small drop of Michael's come still on his lips and… and _fuck_ , Michael thinks, he's actually gorgeous.

" _Really_? Ya think so?" Paul beams.

Michael rolls his eyes, about to rectify that slip-up of thought, when Marko strolls in with a sly smile.

"Boss says it's my turn."

Paul sighs dramatically, not even glancing Marko's way as he flips him the bird, and leisurely licks the drop of Michael's come from his lips. "Boss man's orders," he says to Michael, shrugging, and just like that he's gone.

Leaving Michael all alone with Marko. 

Marko saunters over to him, sitting on the bed beside him, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he stares down at Michael's spit-slick cock. "Milked ya dry, huh?" he snickers.

Michael's glare is weak, his limbs useless, but he tries to appear threatening all the same. "Fuck you," he snarls.

Marko smirks. "That's the idea."

Michael watches, eyes wide, as Marko sheds his clothes. "You've got to be kidding me," he chokes. Marko's fucking _tiny_ , looks almost as young as Sam, a sweet and innocent cherub-faced kid… if he ignores the crop top and the warped, sexual confidence. There is no way he's about to—

"What's the matter, Michael?" Marko's chest is shaking with uncontrollable laughter as he strips off his jeans. Michael closes his eyes, refusing to stare. Jesus fucking christ, this is fucked up.

"Look, whatever David's making you do, you don't have to," he says. He's not entirely sure if it's even Marko he's trying to convince. Marko snorts, and it's so sarcastic that Michael has to wonder if Marko is just following David's orders, or if he _wants_ to do this. "Marko, _fuck_ , come on, this is—"

" _Fun_ , Michael. This is _fun_." Michael feels Marko's weight fall into his lap, and it's sudden, so sudden, in fact, that he's barely able to contain his pathetic grunt. "Haven't you had _fun_ before, Michael?"

"Stop fucking _saying_ it like that," he hisses, the pressure of Marko's naked ass over his cock causing him to let out a belligerent moan, the flesh slowly beginning to harden. Marko's a bloody parrot, won't stop saying his goddamn name, and it's more than maddening at this point.  

"Why, Michael? Not having _fun_ , Michael?" Marko sing-songs. "Paul's mouth not good enough for you?"

Michael is about to attempt another biting remark, but any and all coherent thought disappears when Marko lifts his hips, wraps a hand around his dick, and slides down onto it in one smooth movement.

" _Shit_ , Mikey, you feel good." Marko's eyelashes flutter as he rolls his hips a few times. "Almost big as David."

Michael splutters.

Did David and Marko…?

"Yep," Marko says nonchalantly, and he undulates his hips with a bit more force, humming out a pleased sigh. "All the time, dude."

Michael's breath stutters when Marko's ass clenches around him. Marko's done this before, with _David_ , and that thought ignites an extra spark of heat in his stomach, leaving him horny but also paralysed, because _why has this got him so riled_?

"Maybe you wanna fuck him," Marko chuckles, lifting up to drop down again, riding Michael's dick. "Like this, huh Michael? Bet you wanna feel what it's like to fuck another guy, right? Know what ya missing out on?"

Michael moans, unable to get the picture of it out of his head. David, the fucking asshole, with his endless taunts and that frustrating smirk. What it would feel like to knock him down from that high pedestal of his, have him _beg_.

Marko cackles in a fit of deranged laughter, throwing his head back, blond curls bouncing, his ass squeezing around Michael's cock in the process. "Whew! You're _somethin'_ , Mikey!" he yells, and then with a toothy smile, he adds, "David was right about you."

Michael's chest ripples, insides going tight and hot, like Marko on top of him, around him, the sensation damn near _suffocating_. "A-About me?" he chokes.

"About you," Marko confirms, that awful grating smile on his lips as he watches the emotions flitter across Michael's face. Shock, confusion, horror. Michael doesn't like the look of glee in Marko's eyes; it's too happy, too fucking thrilled.

Marko stills for a moment, adjusts the angle of his hips, before sinking down over Michael's cock again. He rocks his hips down in a fast and dirty grind, repeating Michael's name, almost like a fucking prayer, and Michael can't help the sudden lurch of his orgasm, his stomach and thighs tensing as the spasms of Marko's muscles coax every last drop of come from him.

Michael doesn't have time to recover before Marko's sliding off of him, an elated grin on his face; like making Michael lose control of himself was the intention all along. He waggles his eyebrows as he tugs on his pants, crop top and jacket. "Was _fun_ , Mikey. You did good."

And with that, Dwayne seems to magically take his place.

Michael blinks owlishly when Dwayne sits on the bed beside him. Unlike the others, his presence is somewhat comforting, like a breath of fresh air after a forest fire. Michael lets his eyes slip closed as he feels Dwayne's hand rub his thigh.

"You look wrecked," Dwayne murmurs, but it's not snarky, or teasing. It's just a plain statement. True, too. He feels Dwayne's hand stroke the cleft of his ass. Maybe it would have made him flinch away before. Right now, he's too tired to do anything but groan.

"You gon' screw me too?" he slurs.

Dwayne chuckles, and if Michael had his eyes open he would have seen the brunette shake his head. "No." He brushes a finger against Michael's hole in a feather-light touch. "Paul wouldn't shut up until he got his mouth on your cock. Marko… well, guess you could say he's David's favourite."

Michael's lips, in the floating haze of afterglow, tilt without his permission. "Favourite, huh?"

Dwayne's chuckle, this time, is a rumble, nearly a purr. "Second." He curls his finger, nudges, then presses inside Michael with what feels like an almost practiced movement. "You've caught his eye, that's for sure."

Michael breathes in heavily through his nose, hissing. Dwayne's finger is thick, lengthy, the stretch and burn rather unpleasant, but it's the _way_ he does it; slow and gentle, careful not to press too hard.

"Can see why," Dwayne says, his voice a low rasp as he crooks his finger up, watching Michael's body quake. "You're pretty."

Michael writhes, the praise, for some unknown reason, getting under his skin and making him blush. "'m pretty?" he moans.

"So goddamn pretty," Dwayne growls. Then his tongue is _there_ , licking around Michael hole, wetting and loosening it with spit, and if Michael thought the finger in his ass was fucking intimate then he was definitely mistaken.

Michael tries to arch his back, roll his hips up into Dwayne's mouth, but he's still incapable of moving his lower body. Dwayne notices his distress and leans up, lips shiny and wet, dark brown eyes dancing in amusement.

"Don't worry, you'll be able to move soon," he says, and before Michael can reply he's already leant back down again.

Dwayne's no doubt done this before, has _had to_ , mouth too skilled for this to be a first time. Michael finds himself clutching the bed sheets in his fists, at least able to distend his fingers, grip the sheets and twist and pull, throw his head back as Dwayne eases a second digit in with the first alongside his tongue.

" _Fuck_!" he yelps, fighting the urge to draw his knees up on reflex when the tip of Dwayne's tongue glides over _something_ inside him. Dwayne does it again, and again, and again, until Michael can feel his toes curl, little moans and gasps spilling out from his lips. He's close, so _close_ , and shit, shit, _shit_ , it's from a fucking tongue in his ass.

It's most likely what Dwayne was aiming for, because just before Michael is about to finish for the third fucking time, jesus fucking christ, he's unexpectedly moving out from between his spread thighs, tongue withdrawing, fingers, too, and Michael whines in a pitch he would never want anyone to hear otherwise.

" _F-F-Fuck_. W-W-Why… w-why'd y' s-stop?" he stutters, shaking from the feeling of being left suspended, waiting, _desperate_.

Dwayne looks like he's going to answer, but suddenly there's a furrow in his brow, a frown creasing his lips—and then David walks in. He jerks his head toward Dwayne and Dwayne follows, albeit the wariness in his eyes as he glances shortly at Michael, before leaving them both.

Once they're alone, David smiles. To anyone it would look pleasant, charming, but to Michael it looks sinister.

"I'm impressed," he says, tone dripping, too nauseatingly sweet for Michael's peace of mind. He's not wearing his jacket, arms no longer hidden under extra layers, and Michael's eyes are immediately drawn to the veins against the pale skin of his forearms, broad shoulders, covered by the now-visible sleeves of his shirt. David raises an eyebrow when he sees where Michael's gaze is lingering.

"See something you like, Michael?"

Michael shudders, cock twitching, even as he bites out an angry, "No fucking way."

David's blue eyes gleam.

Michael swallows, mouth dry, as David removes his shirt; relaxed and unhurried, deliberate enough for Michael's eyes to follow the stretch of material over every sliver of skin as it is revealed. He looks away, trying not to stare, but finds his eyes darting back to the… frankly, beautiful sight.

David's body isn't flawless by any means, a few blemishes and outlines of healed scars, maybe from his human life, and a freckle or two evident against the pallid flesh, but the dip of his narrow yet firm hips, the trail of hair on his navel, a lighter blond scattering of them on his chest, the muscles and tendons in the flex of his upper arms, has Michael unconsciously licking his lips.

It doesn't go unnoticed, either, if the smirk curving across David's mouth proves anything.

"You sure about that, Michael?" he scoffs, sharp and cynical. Michael feels his cheeks heat with embarrassing warmth. Shit, is his newfound bisexuality crisis _that_ damn obvious?

" _Yes_ , I'm fucking sure," he hisses, refusing to acknowledge the painful swell of his cock, the twitch of his hole, still sensitive from Dwayne's wet and pointed tongue.

"Well, then, if you're _sure_." David's smirk widens, until he's grinning, untamed, fierce, almost fucking savage. Michael doesn't know when or how in the hell it happens, but in the single second it takes for him to blink, David is on top of him and there is definitely something a lot bigger than Dwayne's fingers inside him.

 _Fuck. SHIT. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK._ His thoughts are high speed and frantic, tangled in desperation and alarm, body wanting to twist and buck and _move_ , but is unable to.

"Gonna have to beg, princess," David grumbles. Michael's so caught by surprise at the pet name that he misses the wicked glint in David's eyes when he says it.

"H-H—Huh?" he pants, sore and aching where David's pressed deep.

"You wanted someone to beg, didn't you?" David replies, giving him that damn smug smile, but then—

Michael's eyes widen, remembering. "D-Did Marko…?" he stammers.

"Heard you." David taps his temple, and when Michael closes his eyes with a grimace, he says, "So _beg_ me."

Michael, tired and distracted by the tender burn of his insides, surrenders easily. 

" _P-Please_ ," he pleads, eyes watering, body trembling. Everything feels too much, too _full_ , his hips itching to move, to alleviate the sensation.

David strokes a hand over his stomach, and it's almost soporific if not for the firm grip his other hand has on Michael's throat. "What was that now?"

Michael gulps, hips straining on the bed, breaths coming out weak and short. "David, p-p-p-please… p-please… _I can't_ …

"Can't _what_ , Michael?" David says, and he's pressed even further in him, like a punch to the gut that never stops.

"I—I wa-want… I—I n-n-need…" he chokes, feels a tear slide down his cheek, the same cheek Paul had cut earlier, hissing at the sting.

David leans in close, so close Michael can practically taste the ash and nicotine on his breath, nose running up the side of his face. Michael half-expects David to lick the tear from his cheek, get off on it like Paul had with the drop of blood, the deranged sociopath that he is, but he doesn't.

Michael gasps when, instead, David's tongue flicks at the metal of his earring, before tugging with a surprisingly gentle nip of teeth. It's sort of… nice. Fuck, _really_ nice. He tries to focus on the little shooting zing of pleasure that it creates, rather than the thickness filling him so much that it hurts.

David must sense his growing discomfort, and after another quick pull on his earring, he exhales one word into Michael's ear.

" _Move_."

For the second time that night, it's like Michael's body has a mind of its own. Soon as the order is out, the rough and low growl of syllables slither down his spine, a tingle races through his limbs, and his hips are yanked forward without his consent.

Michael's breath leaves him, a gigantic burst of air from his lungs, in the form of a punched-out whine, the force of it causing his back to bow, when he feels that thick girth rub against whatever it was the caress of Dwayne's tongue had found earlier.

"There you go," David murmurs, but it's not mocking or cruel or even arrogant; it's soft, almost, reserved, a near awed expression of sound. Michael's hips lurch forward jerkily following it, like they're under David's control.

"Holy _shit_ ," he gasps after a few more unsteady surges of his hips, now that he's able to move, realising the dexterity of his own body. "W-W-What _i-is_ t-that?"

"Your new weakness," David chuckles, though it's not mean-spirited. No. It's proud. _Impressed_. "Feel good, Michael?"

Michael shouldn't say yes, he _shouldn't_ , because before tonight there had been no doubt in his mind that he was anything but straight, and because he likes Star and boobs, not David and… and…  _this_ , but he does.

"Yes, yes, yes, _yes_ ," he pleads, close again, so fucking close, unable to stop moving. David starts to massage the insides of his thighs, gentle, soothing, and it's torturous bliss, the way he's being handled and fucked, like he's fragile and could break any minute, just shatter and fall apart into tiny jagged pieces and—

—and Michael's coming, voice caught between a sob and something high and needy, the sensation so vertiginous he has to close his eyes and let the aftershocks of orgasm stretch on and on and on.

Michael must lose consciousness, however he does not know how long for, because when he blinks his eyes open David is no longer there. He's lying on the bed, alone, a slick and hollow ache inside him and a pang in his neck. He brings two fingers down to his hole, feels a cooling wetness, and wrinkles his nose in distaste. _Gross_. He wipes his fingers on the sheets before touching them to the skin of his throat, flinching at the tender throb of pain it elicits.

FUCK. Not only had David come in him, but he'd _bit_ him? What did that mean?

Michael isn't entirely sure he wants to wait to find out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to play around with the whole 'dream in a dream' idea. I definitely think David could do that kind of mind fuckery, being the powerful asshole that he is. Also, why not include the other boys in that dream. They're gonna be featured a lot more next chapter anyway ;)

Michael stumbles to his feet, eyesight faintly obscured by the darkness as he finds his way out of David's fucking hotel deathtrap. It should be okay once he makes it out, but everything feels more lethargic than it should when he walks up the last few steps and reaches daylight. He instinctively flinches away, tries to rear back from the blinding glint of the sun's rays, and what had become a dull itch in his neck now is a fierce stabbing pain at the unplanned movement.

Michael is barely able to walk another step before his knees collapse beneath him and he's tasting salt and sand, his face meeting warm baked earth. He spits the gritty texture out of his mouth, lifting himself up with shaky hands, a hoarse groan, dusting himself off and glancing behind him.

 _Shit_. How long had he been in there for the sun to rise?

"I don't wanna know," Michael decides, winces at the rough dryness of his throat, almost like he's been swallowing gravel. _Home. I need to go home_ , he thinks as he lets slip a long yawn.

By the time Michael finally gets through the front door, he's exhausted; the weary shift of his limbs has slowed and his head is beginning to drop, legs limp and useless like a newborn fawn's. He puts his sunglasses on to hide his watery, sore eyes and leans against the wall, feeling lightheaded. If he doesn't go upstairs soon, he's going to pass out right here in the doorway.

"Looks like I wasn't the only who got lucky last night," Grandpa says from beside the kitchen fridge. Sam is there too. His brother immediately gags with a pale, disgusted face at the old man's suggestive words. Grandpa is smirking. When he lifts his shades to wink at him, Michael blinks to clear his vision and to comprehend what he's just witnessed.

"Got lucky, all right," he mutters sourly, once his foggy mind recognises what the insinuation is behind the look his gramps is giving him. There was no luck about it. His ass is gonna hurt for _weeks_ , thanks to David. Michael shivers uncomfortably at the thought.

"M'not feeling too good, think m'gonna go sleep for a bit," he tells them, before carefully walking himself upstairs and down the hall to his bedroom. He can hear Sam's worried whispers and Grandpa's low grumbled response, but as soon as his head hits the pillow Michael is pretty much dead to the living world.

Michael doesn't dream this time, but in the bottomless floating black space of his unconscious mind, _something_ is there. He can feel whatever it is, reaching out to him, almost calling to him to join it, and a yearning unlike no other fills the deep, empty void in his thoughts.

Would it hurt to reach back? Just a little? If only he could…

_"Mike, get up!"_

Michael jerks awake, punching out at the air in front of his face, a natural reflex. He hears a loud shout of, "What the _fuck_ , asshole!" and footsteps crashing down the stairs. He's only aware of the smell of blood when he opens his eyes, sits up, and sees tiny splatters of it leaving a trail on the floor from his bed to the bedroom door.

"Huh?" he mumbles, confused. Who had he hit? He remembers the shriek and quick clambering feet. Must have been… "Oh, _shit_."

Sam!

Michael rushes downstairs, almost tripping over in his determination to find his brother before Sam blabs to Mum. He skids across the living room, hears noises of hushed chatter getting closer, and just as he enters the kitchen he knows he's screwed.

"Michael Emerson, did you punch your brother in the face?!"

 _Too late_.

Michael looks sheepishly between his angry, flushed mother and Sam. Sam, who is holding a red-stained tissue to his nose, head tipped back.

"No," he says, another natural reflex by this point. Sam's head falls forward to glare at him, still clutching the soggy tissue to his nose.

"Wha! Yes you did!"

"Did not," he snaps back. But why? He knows he _did_. Why is he saying he didn't?

"Honestly, Michael, I'm very disappointed in you," his mother sighs, shaking her head sadly. "You left your brother alone at the boardwalk last night, no phone call! And now he says you _hit_ _him_?"

Michael swallows, rubbing at his neck, but forgets the bite mark and winces, hissing, "Fuck!" at the shoot of fiery pain.

"Michael!" his mother scolds, thinking it's directed at her and their current situation. She crosses her arms. "You've been asleep most of the day. I sent Sam in to make sure you were all right. What is going on with you, young man? I want to hear it. Right now."

Michael shrugs and glances down at the floor, refusing to meet her eyes. "I don't know," he mumbles, stubborn.

He hears his mother's short, hesitant intake of breath. "Michael…"

"What do you want me to say? Huh?" he replies, gritting his teeth. "That I found some cool biker guys and wanted to hang with them instead of babysitting my nerd kid brother and his freaky ass friends?"

Why is he saying this stuff? He doesn't even mean it! Well, at least not the shit about Sam.

When he looks up, Sam is no longer holding the tissue to his face. His eyes are watery, but not from the hurt of his bloody nose.

"D'ya really mean that, Mike?" he says, a small whisper. He's balling up the tissue in his right fist, scrunching it, squeezing his fingers over it like the stress ball they had to get him in middle school for his peer-pressure anxiety.

Michael wants to say he doesn't, because he _doesn't_ , but what comes out of his mouth is a snorted, "Sure. Whatever, Sam."

Sam's hand comes flying toward him, and for a second Michael thinks he's going to punch him in a cheap revenge shot. He soon understands what is happening, though, when a tissue slaps him wetly on the cheek, slipping down the material of his shirt and onto the floor with a plop.

"Sam, my goodness!" his mother yelps. She picks it up, between two fingers, before ordering him to take care of it for his brother properly.

Michael dismisses the request with a firm set to his jaw. "No."

"What did you say?" His mother sounds honestly, completely bewildered. Hs remembers hearing that tone when their father would call her nasty names.

"I said no. I won't." Michael locks steely eyes on her wide, surprised ones.

"Well then…" She stops, seemingly rattled, trembling with suppressed emotion. Her mouth thins, puckers into a tight frown as she regains her composure. "Sam. Come with me." He watches her drop the tissue onto the floor and grab Sam's arm. She leads Sam out of the kitchen, possibly to the bathroom where she'll fix up his nose, leaving Michael by himself.

Michael waits until he hears the sound of water running upstairs before he kneels on the kitchen floor, fingers grasping the blood-soaked tissue, bringing it to his lips. The smell is fucking intoxicating, and his stomach twists somehow guiltily at the thought of tasting his brother's blood.

 _Just one little drop won't hurt. Right, Michael?_ a low and all-too-familiar voice in his head taunts. Fuck. No. No, he can't. This is… wrong. Worse. This is fucked up.

"What the hell is happening to me," he groans, closing his eyes. He knows, though. Whatever this is, it has to do with David and that bite.

Unless. Wait. He'd felt off before then, before last night. When had that started?

"After that night in the hotel," he murmurs to himself, the distant memory of drinking something bitter and sweet from a jewel-crusted bottle, loud raucous laughter, a hand touching his—

Michael sucks in a sharp breath. _Okay_. That hadn't be in his head before.

He refuses to panic, disposes of the tissue in the trash, turning back and wandering into the living room. The couch which is usually occupied by his family is bare, and looking at it reminds Michael he's still tired. It's not night yet, might be late afternoon, but his body doesn't seem to care, his eyes having trouble staying open the more he stands still.

 _Maybe I should lie down_ , he thinks. Yeah. He just needs to sleep, and then he'll be okay. He had a late night, that's all. He's fine. 

No matter how much he tries to convince himself that as he eases his body down onto the couch, none of it comforts him—and after his stomach twists in an awful spasm, forcing him to curl in on himself and clutch at his abdomen, Michael can't help but realise that something is _seriously_ wrong with him.

His eyes assimilate scarily fast to the dark living room when he wakes up what feels like hours later, and it's enough to have Michael sitting up with a muffled sound of distress while he gets his bearings. Everything around him is too clear; _crystal_ clear, in fact. It's fucking unnerving. Almost as unnerving as the silence in the house, which, uh, _shit_.

Nobody is there.

 _Where did they go?_ he wonders. It has to be midnight by now, at least judging by the bleakness of his surroundings. Or, well, what _should_ be hard to see. There's no way his mother would let Sam stay out this late. His bedtime's nine o’clock, for christ's sake.

_'Maybe little mama changed her mind.'_

_'Yeah, you know how it is Michael. Baby bro's gotta grow up!'_

_'Not long till he'll be one of us too, hey Marko?'_

_'Don't know about that, Paulie.'_

_'But Max has a plan!'_

_'And you think David cares?'_

_'He might! You don't know!'_

_'How many of those damn things did you smoke tonight, Paul?'_

_'Shut up, Dwayne! This is a private conversation between us and Mikey! Right, Mikey?'_

"What. The. _Fuck_ ," Michael says, his voice a loud and choked whisper in the silence. It's too fucking quiet, and now he's starting to hear voices. _Maybe I'm going insane_ , he thinks hysterically.

_'Not insane, Michael. One of us.'_

_'Yeah! You get to hear us and we get to hear you!'_

Michael groans, heart beating strong and heavy in his ears. The first voice had sounded way too familiar, and even if he didn't need to see the face, it pops into his head all the same. _David_.

_'Clever, isn't he, Paul?'_

_'Bright as the sun!'_

_'You can't even see the sun, idiot.'_

_'Get lost, Marko!'_

_'Michael. You can hear us, can't you?'_

_Yes, I can fucking hear you!_ Michael thinks. He's broken out into a cold sweat, can feel the clammy wet substance under his shirt, and when he wipes a hand across his forehead it comes back layered in a sheen of perspiration. _What the hell did you do to me, David?!_

Michael doesn't hear a response. He waits, and waits, and waits on bated breath until he's sure he won't be getting one. He closes his eyes, cursing—

 —and wakes up again, but this time to burning sunlight, his brother's voice yelling for him to get up. _Again_.

Michael moans in discomfort, using a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, and sits up to find he's not on the couch anymore.

He's in his fucking bed.

_"It's two in the goddamn afternoon, Mike! And Mum wants to talk to you about leaving me at the—"_

Michael zones out, his brother's voice fading from a high pitch to static background noise.

Had he dreamt it? All of it? Punching Sam? Wanting to taste his blood? Arguing with his mother? Those horrible cramps? The boys' voices?

Was it all just another nightmare?

The knowledge that he has no clue leaves a sick churning of dread in Michael's gut.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you wanna see anything specific, as I'm all for prompts regarding this too ;)


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